


Bad Liar

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Co-workers, Cooking, Devoted Theo, F/M, Idiots in Love, Pining, Rolling up sleeves, Slytherpuff Theo, background dramione, song inspiration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:29:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27800800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It is a truth universally acknowledged by every Slytherin of Theodore Nott’s year that Theodore Nott is a bad liar.Which makes life tricky when he's "secretly" in love with his co-worker, Astoria Greengrass. The very same Astoria The Daily Prophet rumors is soon-to-be-engaged to his friend, Draco Malfoy.
Relationships: Astoria Greengrass/Theodore Nott, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 39
Kudos: 72
Collections: mightbewriting mightbehavingabirthday





	Bad Liar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mightbewriting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mightbewriting/gifts).



> I've been listening to “Bad Liar” by, Imagine Dragons on repeat a lot lately. It’s so angsty and beautiful, and not really at all what I had in mind for a bday piece, but individual lyric lines were very inspirational for this (hopefully) funny piece. Happy Birthday, mightbewriting!!! You’re a gem of a writer and an absolute joy to follow in the fandom. I adore your stories, and I hope you know how fantastic you are! And I hope this is the happiest of birthdays for you! Much love and happy thoughts and well wishes! 
> 
> Endless thanks and gratitude to beta Blessedindeed, and the invaluable input and encouragement from tashadlv and Quintalon. Graphic by the lovely Quintalon, and thank you! Also, thank you to persephone_stone for inviting me to contribute and help celebrate!
> 
> All remaining errors are my own.

* * *

It is a truth universally acknowledged by every Slytherin of Theodore Nott’s year that Theodore Nott is a bad liar. 

It’s why he and Draco had never been friends (by any definition) until the fuck-hole of their seventh year. Allies. Theo would have always considered Draco an ally, and he supposes Draco would have, too. But Draco had this unfortunate affliction as a child and lanky youth—he was an unmitigated arse, and Theo never let the opportunity to tell Draco precisely that pass him by. 

The thing about war is that while Draco is still an insufferable prat and Theo is still painfully honest, there’s Perspective now. 

And through the lens of Perspective, faults that once blurred over finer points of personality…well, none of them vanish. Everything becomes more clear, though. Conversations happen and allies shift to friends before one’s truly realised it. 

Or so Theo’s experiences with Draco. 

Much as he’s loath to admit it. 

Because in all this time since the War and becoming friends with the once irritating little shite, Theo’s had to lie by omission and avoidance a great deal. And he’s horrible at it. Downright disastrous. 

For reasons. 

Simple reasons that are as cliche as tragic stories of enemies falling in love. This isn’t one of those stories, though. 

No. 

Theo has never considered himself an enemy of Astoria Greengrass. 

In fact, he thought very little of her until his seventh year, when she was a fifth year. A fifth year Slytherin Prefect who wouldn’t take part in the cruel and barbaric punishments of fellow Hogwarts students. He thought about her a great deal all that year, though. So much so that he wanted to ask her to Hogsmeade their first outing when school re-opened that September. 

Someone else beat him to it, and she’d started dating that bloody lucky Hufflepuff in her year. 

Then Theo had left school and it’d been another year before he truly had the pleasure of encountering Astoria again. 

At work. Of all places. Because _that’s_ not cliche. _At all_. 

Theo finds himself groaning aloud at his desk multiple times a week, for no other reason other than he’s working with _the_ witch. The one he’s gone and fallen in love with while working with her. He’s managed to go an entire eighteen months and keep from telling _her_. Somehow—and Salazar only knows _how_. He thinks everyone else on their team knows, because, honestly, he’s been the perfect Pureblood gentleman with her. And even left her little anonymous birthday presents. She’s told him he doesn’t have to, and even explained why he ought not, but he still finds himself holding every possible door for her. Allowing her to cross all thresholds before him. He congratulates her on every last job well done, and rallies the office to go in on congratulation flowers when she was promoted a month ago. 

So, no. It’s not an exaggeration to say he’s not sure _how_ he’s gotten away with Astoria _not_ knowing he’s in love with her all this time. 

It’s for the best, though. 

Because it’s only speculation in the _Daily Prophet_ for now, but Theo already in the know of the bloody rotten, buggering horrible, fucking no-good, sodding very bad news that love of his life Astoria Greengass is almost engaged to Draco. 

The Silver Slytherin Git himself. Whom Theo considers a friend now. Not just any friend though. This goes beyond weekly chess games with Blaise and the occasional shopping trip and brunch with Pansy. _Far beyond_. Draco is the stay-up-all-night-getting-sloshed-because-your-dad-found-a-way-to-off-himself-in-Azkaban type of friend. He’s become the one Theo would and does call for anything. Because in silence or in words, Draco somehow always ends up doing the right thing (something he’s grown into). 

Theo avoids the topic of dating with Draco, though. Not that he’s ever had to avoid it too often. Draco’s never spoken too much of it either. 

Perhaps it was too much to bear that he’s going to have an arranged marriage—which wouldn’t make sense. It seems the perfectly Malfoy thing to do.

It’s ridiculous, though. Laughable even. All this time being Draco’s friend, and Theo’s never let on he’s been in love with his soon-to-be-fiancé. 

* * *

Theo’s also, apparently, losing his mind. 

And not hearing correctly. At all. 

Because one simply does not just—just—up and _do_ what Draco’s told him. 

Theo tilts his head, blinking at Draco. “You’ve… broken it off?” 

“Yes.” 

“As in, no longer unofficially officially engaged with Astoria Greengrass?” 

“Yes.” 

“Because you’ve actually been secretly dating Hermione Granger this whole time?” 

“Not all of the last eighteen months,” Draco concedes with a slight lift to his shoulder. “Sixteen. Maybe more along the lines of fourteen by Hermione’s reckoning, but I count all the happenstances everywhere about St. Mungo’s because I had every intention of being where she was at any given time before working up the nerve to ask her for a drink.” 

Draco hasn’t blinked this whole time. 

Apart from that insufferably Malfoy pass of a shrug, because Malfoy’s do not _need_ to shrug to the fullest extent, Draco’s hardly moved since giving Theo the news. Which is ridiculous. Ridiculous and unnerving. Ridiculously unnerving how fucking unblinking Draco is through it all.

Theo’s incredulous. 

Incredulous. Indignant. Infuriated. 

_All this fucking time…_

“You. Couldn’t. Have. Mentioned. Something. To me. In all. This. Time?” 

“I didn’t want to tell you, because… I wasn’t telling anyone until I was sure.” Draco drops Theo’s glare now, shaking his head. “No, that’s not it. I’ve been sure for ages, but there was wanting to be sure _she_ was sure and we were…” He trails off, scratching the back of his neck. 

“Until the two of you were sure?” Theo supplies. Because, bugger him, he gets it. 

“Yeah. I know that comes off as cowardly, and maybe it is. Maybe I’ll never change in that regard, but—”

“It isn’t.” Fucking Draco. That’s the thing about him—it’s impossible to remain incredulous, indignant, and infuriated after knowing his reasons. Or maybe Theo’s too Hufflepuff for his own good. Whatever. He huffs an annoyed sigh nonetheless and drags a hand through his hair. “You knew the potential fallout with your mother, and Lucius still has power over vaults from prison. I get it.” If Draco loses everything, his mother does, as well. Not to mention, Draco’s the whole reason she turned on the Dark Prick, and he doesn’t want to lose her either. 

“Exactly.” Draco nods. Honest-to-Merlin-fucking _nods_. Like he’s somehow now thrown for how very uncharted these new waters in their relationship are. “Sorry I won’t be asking you to be my best man anytime soon.” 

Theo tops the stupidity of Draco’s nodding with two dumbfounded blinks of his own. Three. “What?” Is he choking? Wheezing? Or simply losing it? 

Draco rubs his hands over his trousers. “I mean, you were already thinking of being my best man in an upcoming wedding. Thought you’d see yourself as more fitting in that role then Blaise, and you’d like that status position. Then you’d have a date, or maybe simply escort someone for a glamorous weekend of partying and—“

“Draco. Mate. No.” Theo’s shaking his head. Sharply. Firmly. _Honestly_ . He’s a horrible liar and it’s obvious to everyone at work, and possibly even Blaise and Pansy. How is Draco so utterly _unaware_? “You’re not even remotely close to coming to reason this news affects me.” 

“Oh.” A pause. Then, “Do I need to buy you flowers, candies, or a bauble of sorts to make up for keeping this from you?” 

“Git.” Theo shoots a stinging hex at Draco, which the wanker easily dodges. It’s… overwhelming. He hasn’t considered the weight of this secret he’s been carrying for so long. How it’s seeped into every aspect of himself. What he does and doesn’t do or say. And… he isn’t certain he’s ready to be relieved of it just yet. 

He smiles brightly. Broadly. And proffers a hand to Draco. “Congratulations, old bean. You’re a lucky man, and I expect the offer to be best man will be waiting for me when you and Granger decide it’s time to make it all official. 

* * *

He’s glad he didn’t told Draco. Truly. 

It’s only fair she hears the news from him first. He may be a bad liar, and fairly obvious in his feelings, but he’s never actually admitted said feelings aloud. It seems fair the witch should be the first to hear it from him. 

When she’s ready. Of course. 

Theo’s nervous going into work this morning. Not because he’s planning on saying anything _today._ Merlin, he’s not that desperate. He doesn’t _think_ Astoria had gone and fallen in love with the pasty blond git in this prequel era of pre-engagement, but then again, it hasn’t been a topic of conversation they’ve frequented. Nevertheless, today is for her. About her and being there for any support she may need. 

Which is all to say, Theo hopes he doesn’t make an idiot of himself today. Or say anything clumsy or stupid or insensitive to _her_. 

* * *

He needn’t have worried so. 

Astoria isn’t at work that day. In fact, she doesn’t come in to work at all that week.

The first two days, their supervisor had said she’d Floo’d she wasn’t feeling well. She worked from home the rest of the week. 

It’s now the end of the day Friday, and Theo has no difficulty making inquiries about work responsibilities next week. 

“You’ll take on the Farthington account for yourself. I’ll ask Margie to work with you next week if you require further assistance.” 

That… doesn’t sound right. Not even close. “What about Astoria? She’s provided everything needed to close up this week’s project, but she’s provided most of the foundational research for this account. I refuse to take over what she’s already put time and effort into.”

“This was her idea, Theo.” The supervisor pushes her large glasses up the bridge of her small nose. It’s an ill suited match entirely, and reminds Theo of Potter in their first years of school, actually, but she doesn’t come to Theo for fashion advice, so Theo keeps his thoughts to himself. “I can’t force her to an account when she’s volunteered herself to research and data analysis for the next three presentations.” 

_Three?!_

One would be two weeks worth of work considering Astoria’s attention to detail. 

But _three_ … 

He doesn’t voice all the contradictory statements that assail his mind and claw their way up his throat. Doesn’t question what he could have possibly done to make her ask for opportunities to keep her from working with him for the next several weeks. Doesn’t play back through it all to wonder if she’s figured him out and is now avoiding all human contact in response to current circumstances.

It’s him. 

His fault. 

He knows it is. 

He can’t lie. He’s terrible at it. He’s a bad liar. He’s made his feelings for her known any other way he possibly could outside of voicing them. 

Of course she knows. 

He swallows it all back as he gathers his own things and leaves the office for the weekend. 

There’s a dry bitterness in his mouth as he enters the lift and the doors close behind him. A taste he already knows will linger until he sees her again. 

_Until Monday,_ he tells himself. He can make it through three nights and two days. 

He can. 

* * *

He doesn’t see her on Monday, though. 

Or the Monday after that. Or the Monday after _that_. 

In the last month Theo’s learned the difference between ‘living’ and ‘surviving’ actually amounts to the difference in seeing Astoria and _not_. In having her, her smiles, her beauty, her knowledge, her teasing quips, her humming, and general liveliness, as part of his day, and having it gone entirely. 

She’s done all her work from home for the past month. All of it. 

Not only that, but no one seems to have seen her about the community lately either. 

Theo knows. He’s searched. He’s been to the cafe’s they’ve frequented for work lunches and the coffee shops about Muggle London and pubs in rural Scotland. He’s been to book shops and stores and even the grocers she prefers. She’s not to be found anywhere about her usual places. 

Daphne Potter (née Greengrass) mentions to Draco and Theo that she’s declined all invitations to come and play with her baby nephew. She’s closed her Floo and isn’t accepting calls from family or other friends. She answers a weekly owl from Daphne, and that’s the only communication she gives outside of work. 

He’s shocked when he sees Astoria next. 

It’s a month and a week, but it may as well have been a year. 

A long, loveless, and difficult year. 

He knows the shadows that haunt his own face by now. The lines of worry that will cause nothing by problems, problems, problems. Problems for his complexion years from now, but he accepts them as signs of love. 

But the brief moment he sees Astoria is enough to shake him. Shock him down the marrow. Shatter him entirely. 

So that he can never be whole again. 

He doesn’t believe his overeager eyes at first. He tells himself the witch with long, black, tangled hair hanging limply around hunched shoulders couldn’t possibly belong to the witch who always keeps her hair perfectly brushed, silky, and styled. The witch who seems to be trying to curl around herself and make herself small enough to hide as she enters the bookshop in Hogsmeade in no way resembles the woman who always walks with such confidence and ease. A grace and poise that never apologises for occupying space on the sidewalk. 

It’s not until she briefly looks over her shoulder before she struggles with the door that he knows it’s her. 

He doesn’t see much, but it’s enough. 

Dark circles surround her shimmerless eyes—ebony eyes that usually sparkled from across an entire room and lit a fire in Theo’s chest. Her cheeks are drawn and narrow. Her mouth sits in a dull line, as if they hadn’t parted for anything more than minimum necessities for life in the last month. 

And things like laughing and talking have been cut from the list. 

He wonders how often they’ve opened to cry in all this time. How many times she’s shed tears of pain, solitude, and loss in the last five weeks. 

There’s no escaping what he’s just witnessed. No erasing this glimpse from his memory. 

It kindles a new fire in him.

One that may also lead to problems. Problems. Problems. 

She doesn’t see him before she enters the shop. He doesn’t go after her. 

He Disapparates from the spot immediately, landing in his kitchen a moment later. 

Time to give meaning to his days again.

* * *

“Knock, knock!” he cheerily calls, narrating the action his fist is carrying out. He’s always thought it odd to say what one is doing, but Theo isn’t taking no for an answer. He isn’t giving the option of not being heard or even ignored. 

If there’s one thing he excels at, it’s making himself impossible to ignore. 

He’s playing that to his advantage today. This very morning on Astoria’s doorstep. 

His heart leaps to his throat as he hears footsteps from the other side of the door. They’re muffled and padded, as if reluctant to come to the door, but footsteps in his direction is already progress by Theo’s estimation. 

“I can’t play with James today, Daph,” she says from the other side of the closed door. “There’s a mountain of research waiting on me. Maybe when I’ve finished this project?” 

“I’m not Daphne,” he answers brightly. Perhaps too brightly, but that’s his error to make. Joy now bubbles inside him at the sound of her voice. The first he’s heard it in too long. “I’m also not her husband Potter. Nor am I your father or Blaise or even—”

“Theo?” 

The door swings open before he’s ready, but that’s… perfect, actually. She’s the most beautiful witch to have ever walked this planet in all her simplistic glory. Her hair hangs loose around her shoulders, wavy with a hint of frizz, as if allowed to air dry after a shower. There’s not a trace of makeup to be found on her face, and that’s better, too. He’d rather be confronted with the raw honesty of a life tearing at the seams… _Such dramatics,_ he chides himself, even as he proffers his full arms out to her. 

“Good morning, Astoria. Already hard at work?” 

“Yes, I—well, it’s already half nine and I had a little trouble sleeping, and—” She stops herself short, doing several things all at once. There’s this wringing of her hands, then the way she looks back-and-forth between Theo and her flat, around Theo and back to Theo, and finally his parcel and back to him. She manages at some point in there to also tuck a lock of hair behind her ear and smooth her hands over her denims, cheeks turning an obvious pink. “What are you doing here, Theo?” 

“Work,” he answers. As if that’s the most obvious answer in the world. “And breakfast. I’ve had a recipe for a quiche Lorraine I’ve been wanting to try for ages, and needed someone to share it with. SInce it’s been _ages_ since we’ve seen one another, may I...” We trails off, waggling his eyebrows, and jerking his face to the inside of the house. 

She honestly looks too stunned as she steps aside. He’s never seen a thoroughly surprised Astoria and he isn’t sure he cares much for this reaction. He would have preferred a fight or even for her to slam the door in his face. He’s inside now, though, and she closes the door behind him. 

It’s clean in here. Not that it _hasn’t_ been the few occasions he’s been here—group gatherings like a smaller, more intimate engagement party for her sister and Potter and work celebrations she volunteered to host. But this is a new level of clean. Something citrus and fresh fills the air, and there’s not a single thing out of place. As if this hasn’t been a home at all, but rather a place to hide. To exist in. 

She’s pulled back the blinds, too. Buttery-soft yellow sunshine filters pours in, warming the sharp edges of clean and disuse. He sees she’s claimed a spot on the floor next to the coffee table as her work space. Several tomes are neatly stacked around the table, and on top of the table, parchment rolls, pots of ink, and several quills are all orderly spread out. 

He draws a quick breath. _Trust me darling. Trust me, darling_. 

“Brilliant setup you’ve got here,” he starts. Moving as he talks. Making himself at home. “You don’t mind if I conjure a pillow to sit on, though, do you? Never mind, I’m not asking, because I’m doing it, and yes, it will be a green pillow, but not because we’re former Slytherins—I like green. There’s one for you, too. And I’ll be pushing back this lovely sofa that looks sad over being ignored but never mind that. There now, perfect. I can expand and extend this table so there’s plenty of room for the two of us and this marvelous breakfast I’ve brought. No need for you to faff over plates and silverware, I’ve brought all that, too, and why are you still standing when I’m sitting? Your matching pillow’s all ready for you.” 

Astoria's lips are parted in what can only be shock. Perhaps a bit of awe. Definitely some confusion. She seems to need to physically shake herself from her stunned stance as she answers him. “No. Thank you, though—why am I thanking you? Theo!” 

_There it is_. 

Her arms fold across her chest and she starts tapping her bare toes over the carpeted floor. 

“What in the name of Merlin do you think you’re doing here?” 

“Work. And breakfast.” He makes an airy gesture over the table. 

“No.” She shakes her head again. 

“No?” 

“No. You can’t invite yourself over and then come into my home and take over everything. There’s a system and order to it all and you can’t just—just—waltz in here and Theo it all!” 

He makes a sound that’s somewhere between a scoff, a snort, and a laugh. “‘Theo it all’? What in the name of Merlin do you mean by that?” 

“It means you do this! All the time!” 

The pink in her face has darkened, and, Salazar. He hopes it’s because he’s slipped and called her ‘love’ (bad liar; it’s not the first time he’s done it either). But if she’s about to be furious and throw him out, he’ll take that, too. And leave the quiche here with here. Then come back tomorrow. 

He almost goes for a counterargument of innocence, but decides a lazy smirk will be the surest way to know what’s about to happen. 

So that’s what he gives her. While undoing the button of his long sleeve. “You’re going to have to be more specific,” he drawls, rolling up said sleeve. “There are a great many things I do out of habit, and a thousand other things I do to occupy myself and spend my time everyday.” Unbuttons the next sleeve. Rolls it up. Slowly. Holding her gaze the entire time. Sensing a charge. A spark. A sizzle of… _something_. “But as for showing up at your flat unannounced and with food and work, none of that’s been done before.” He cants his head at her, dark humour coursing through his veins. “Should I have been doing that all along, though, love?” 

Red. 

Astoria’s cheeks are full on red now. 

She huffs and actually stamps her foot before marching over to the workspace. “You’re a narcissistic git who finds a way to make every crisis and incident about you. And when that’s not enough, you come in anyways, making yourself at home and changing everything up with your gifts and things no one asked for.”

He arches a narrow brow at her, masking the elation bubbling inside him. “You have to work, so do I. My tasks this week require little outside involvement, and others at the office would only distract me. It seems ridiculous that two people with the same job and similar responsibilities should be working home alone in two separate homes. Since you’ve taken it upon yourself to decline all recent invitations to leave your flat for social purposes, why should I give you any chance to decline an invitation to work from my house?” 

“Merlin’s purple robes,” she mutters. “I’m not vanishing from it all forever. It’s just space. I needed space.” 

“There’s plenty of space between us now that I’ve expanded this table.” Theo’s tone softens, but he doesn’t take the bait. Not yet. He can’t go down _that_ road yet. The one that leads to feelings and admissions and things. Because he doesn’t want to tell her the truth, not yet. Not while she’s still clinging to solitude and structure as means of coping. “I promise I’ll keep quiet while we work, but I’m here now and all set up. My sleeves are even rolled up, and I’ve conjured a matching pillow for you. It’d be a shame to waste all that effort in telling me to leave. 

“Fine.” She draws a sharp breath, but lowers herself to the floor pillow on her side of the table. He hears her breathing, still, and doesn’t know if that’s good or bad. Doesn’t know if that means she’s about to panic and throw him out, or warring through some internal battle of her own. 

The Path of Distraction is his only way forward: “Breakfast before we begin!” he sings out, pulling out a knife to cut into the dish. 

“No, thank you.” 

“Nonsense.” 

“Really, Theo.” Her voice is low now. So low. With a hint of vulnerability he almost misses. _Almost_. “I couldn’t right now.”

“Look me in the eye and tell me this quiche Lorraine isn’t the most appetising thing of beauty you’ve seen in weeks.” He’s baiting her now. Playful in his persistence. “Tell me it’s foul rubbish and should be binned immediately without tasting.” 

She chuckles. It’s airy and quiet, and seems to almost be an accident, but he hears it all the same. And it’s sweet music to his ears. And there’s a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she says, “There’s simply the third option that I’m not presently hungry.” 

“I’ll accept that for now, but this will be a long day.” He returns her smile, minus the hesitation. He means to smile at her. Means to show her the joy she brings to life in _him._ “I’m cutting you a slice, and here's a fork for when you’re ready.” 

He slides the plate across the table. She pulls it closer. Close enough to be in reach, then slides it to not be in the way of her notes. He decides it’s still within reach, though, and lets it be. 

It’s something. 

He pulls a large thermos from his bag first (a gift from Granger at last year’s Christmas gathering), then takes his time bringing out his work. Because he actually brought work that needs to get done today; not that he’s at all interested in it. 

Not when he’s in the same room as Astoria. For the first time in weeks. Not when he can be closer to her now. Not when he can tell she hasn’t been sleeping much at all. Not when he now thinks it’s possible she’s lost nearly one stone in the last five weeks, and it breaks his heart all over again. 

Not when he can feel the weight of her studious gaze, and he wants more than anything to hold it. To hold her and make every bold declaration for her heart and hand _now_. 

“You brought coffee, too?” 

Her question startles him, but she’s eyeing the thermos on the table now. He smiles as he nods. “With the appropriate dollops and dashes of cream, sugar, and cinnamon already added. I don’t have mugs, though.” 

“Right ho,” she hums, rising and making for the kitchen in a single fluid motion. Like a dancer taking to the stage. She returns half a moment later, just long enough for him to miss her, but there’s a flash of something in her ebony eyes. A hint of a glimmer. She leans down and places the mugs on the table in front of him. “If you’re going to invade my day, you may as well make yourself useful, Theodore.” 

“Language, pet.” Theo’s looses a dark chuckle as he pours out the coffee. Astoria and Astoria alone can get away with calling him Theodore, and he’s certain she knows it, too. Pretty positive, at least. He floats the mug gently to her. Breath catching as she curls her fingers around the cup. Ceases to know if his heart still beats or not as she holds the cup close. 

Her eyes flutter shut and for a moment, a singular moment, all is peaceful and still. Everything softens in her features in the golden sunlight as she simply sits. Clutching close a cup of coffee. Breathing in the aroma.

And takes a sip. 

Then hums. And sighs. 

She hums and sighs, and takes another sip, and everything inside Theo is dancing and singing. 

“You make the best coffee, Theo. Thank you.” She sips again before lowering the mug to the table. 

_My pleasure. Only for you. Always and only for you. Forever. Please, please, please allow me to make you coffee forever._

“You’re welcome,” he manages to say, though there’s something choked in it. Or husky. He can’t tell anymore. 

He’s thankful when they fall into a silent rhythm of work and drinking coffee. There’s method and order in the chaos of this unknown. He doesn’t mind madness, but it’s best when there’s a hint of direction. If this is all that happens between them today, he’s content. It’s a start. 

So, he’s shocked entirely when she starts to eat while working. 

Floored and elated. 

It’s a rush like being hit in the chest by one bludger and dodging a second one before being knocked off the broom entirely. 

She makes slow work of eating. Sneaking bites in between coffee sips and reading from one of the large tomes. He doesn’t think she notices when her sliver is gone, and he adds a second piece to her plate. She simply eats in delicate, careful bites. Pausing to sigh one of those contented sort of sounds that warms him inside out. It’s more satisfying than the dish itself—and, yes, Theo is incredibly hungry. 

As he eats and works across the table from Astoria, he wages a silent war within himself for what feels an Age. Or ten. Speak or not? Say what he wants or not? It takes all the courage he can muster before he finally parts his lips and hears himself ask, “Why didn’t you want to work with me? 

_What_?!

“What?” She blinks up at him, surprised every bit as much as he is. 

That’s… not at all what he’d considered saying. Asking. Whatever. 

“The Farthington account.” He licks his lips, going along with whatever his subconscious is dragging up. He’s learned by now it’s useless to resist—part of the horrible liar thing. His true nature always comes out. “You’d done all the groundwork for it, and we were partnered on that. Just the two of us. We usually have a third or fourth, but this was the two of us and you’d already put so much preparation into it. Then suddenly it was mine. Only mine. You took on another account.” 

“It—that—Theo!” She runs a hand through her hair, then shoves it all back behind her ear. “My decision to request another assignment had nothing to do with you.” 

“Of course it did,” he counters. Mad. He can feel it. He’s miffed over this still, and there’s no stopping the floodgates no matter how lost for this witch he is. A Theodore has some pride, too. “There’s no possible way you could miss how excited I was for it. I’d only casually mentioned it half a dozen times or so over the previous two weeks. How it was to be the first of many projects assigned to just the two of us, because we’d obviously do so well, they’d never separate us again. They’d see us as an unstoppable duo, and—”

“Theo.” The quiet calm of her voice reaches his ears instantly. Soothing the aching pounding inside his chest. Stilling all words in his throat. She licks her lips and laces her fingers together over the table. “I remember. I remember all that now and I apologise for how you took it. For how unprofessional it was to change all that without letting you know. And if that’s what you’re still working on, I’ll be glad to assist you now.” 

“No,” he rushes, needing to be the one comforting again. Fuck his mouth and insistence on answers. _She’s_ the one who’s been hurting all this time, and he’s the worst sort of twat doing exactly what she accused him of in the beginning: making it all about him. Fuck him, this isn’t how it’s supposed to go. He extends a hand, learning forward, not stopping until he’s brushing two fingers over her knuckles. “Forgive me. You’re the best, and it wasn’t any trouble at all, thanks to all the work you’d already done.”

He slides his fingers over hers this time, relishing in the soft warmth of her skin. Lets his voice drop and deepen as he meets her dark gaze. “It wasn’t close to the same without you, though. You bring all the fun and life. And you’re such a stickler for the details when I’m fixating on the big picture.” 

Her breath hitches. And he catches her sniffle. And she’s now blinking back a sheen of water in her eyes. He wants to close his hand over hers, but she pulls away before he can decide if he should chance it or not. Pulls back and wraps her hands around the coffee cup. “It had nothing to do with you, Theo. Please know that.” 

“Okay,” he answers.

“Okay.” She proffers the cup to him. “Is there enough for a refill?” 

There is. Barely. He empties the thermos into her cup, an ease draping over him as a blanket. Astoria drinks her coffee and takes another bite of quiche as she gets back to her tomes and parchements, and he leaves it at that. 

There’s more colour in her face now. They’ve talked, too. She’s not kicking him out.

She’s even eating some, too. 

It’s enough. For today, it’s enough.

* * *

He continues to come that week. They drink coffee each morning while working, but he tries for a couple of lunches. Full and delicious lunches. Tuesday is a spicy Thai chicken and peanut sauce flatbread pizza. He tops it with fresh arugula before cutting it into square slices. Astoria eats three slices, telling him multiple times it’s delicious. He doesn’t know if his body’s about to melt into a puddle on her floor or burst into dandelion fluff and float away on the clouds. Wednesday he brings a baked chicken and spinach Alfredo pasta and shaves parmesan over their servings before they dig in. 

He fights every muscle in his body to keep from closing the distance between them and snogging her breathless when she says it’s the best pasta she’s ever had. 

He tells her at the end of the day that he has a meeting that morning, but asks if she’ll be all right with working at a proper table in the afternoon. He gives no other explanation, and he’s glad he doesn’t. Astoria loves a proper tea, and the surprise on her face when he arrives with parcels of scones, pastries, and tarts is everything. Everything. 

He’s thoroughly chuffed at his cleverness when she excuses herself to the bathroom as he sets her table for high tea. He stopped back home from the office before coming here and changed his tie. He ran a comb through his hair and everything. He wants the effect to be formal frivolity today, and it’s too fun making her happy. 

“Thank you, Theo. It all looks too beautiful to eat.” 

“Well, eat is what we’re going to do, my dear,” he teases. “Eat and gossip and gab and—” 

Blank. 

His mind actually. Goes. Blank. 

Because she’s changed. As in not wearing the same denims and shirt he’d seen her in just moments before. She’s changed. Into. A dress. Something with lace and a belt around the waist. She’s stepped her previously bare feet into shoes that Pansy had previously informed him are “flats.” And her hair… he doesn’t remember what it was before, but he thinks it was hanging loose again. Only now he can tell she’s brushed it and pulled it into some loose bun. 

It’s beautiful. She’s beautiful. Always is and was. But she’s—she’s—this is—

“My gran would be clucking her tongue at my choice of dress and shoes, but I hope it’ll do for _our_ tea.” She’s smiling. Truly smiling. At him. At the table he’s set. “I know you have a penchant for surprises, but, really. High tea and I’m not even in heels. But you’ll have to settle if you don’t give a witch proper warning.” 

“You’re beautiful.” He doesn’t think, doesn’t catalogue a list of pros and cons. Doesn’t consider the potential consequences. He covers the space between them in a single long stride. Holds her hand to his. Lifts it up. Bends slightly. And presses his lips to her fingers. Eyes fall shut as he lingers. Drinking her in and kissing her hand. 

He’s a bad liar. Why even try to today? 

He straightens up and loosens his grip, allowing their hands to slowly fall away—very slowly. As if uncertain being untangled from each other is what they truly prefer. 

“You have never been anything other than the most beautiful witch I will ever know, Astoria Greengrass. And tosh to your gran. I’ll vanish my tie now if you think it’d have her tutting at me.” 

She giggles. Fucking _giggles_ and it’s hopeless. He’s lost any war of being anything other than hers. Surrenders to wherever anything leads from here on out. 

“I’ll make the tea and you can have a seat.” 

“All right.” 

Time passes in a hazy blur until they’re sitting together at the table. Tea poured, steam curls unfurling over their cups. They’ve helped themselves to samples of everything Theo brought, while Astoria’s truly the most delectable sight in the room, Theo’s _very_ excited for this scone with clotted cream and lemon curd. It’s his favourite and doesn’t treat himself often, and—

“You don’t need to keep bringing me pity meals, Theo,” Astoria suddenly says. “I know I’ve vanished for a while, but I’ll be okay. Back to myself soon enough.” 

Theo almost drops the scone back to its plate. 

Strike that. 

He apparently _has_ dropped his scone down to his plate. Crumbs, curd, and cream splatter, and Astoira’s gasping and out of her chair with a napkin, casting cleaning charms before he’s fully come to terms with what’s just happened. 

Because—because—

_Because._

“It isn’t pity.” She’s standing over him and he’s looking up at her. Locking his eyes to hers. Needing her to understand. “I know you’ll be fine. You’ve proven over and over you can do anything you fix your mind on. I care for you, though. I caught a glimpse of you in Hogsmeade and it broke something inside me. I wanted—no, I _needed_ —to help you on your way back to being okay. 

She shakes her head, tracing a finger over his shoulder. “We’re Slytherin’s, Theo. Nothing we do is that selfless.”

“Don’t make me say it, love.” He chokes on his words, throat closing, even as air claws to escape his lungs before he explodes. “You’re getting over Draco, and please don’t ask things of me you’re not ready to hear.” _Trust me, darling. Trust me, darling._

Every last thread of self-restraint is ripping and falling away. Tearing apart and vanishing from his memory. In her nearness, with her face full of life and colour once again, with so much emotion he can’t read brimming in her eyes, it’s easy to forget why he’s given her all this time and space in the first place. Why he hadn’t been pounding on her door and demanding to hold her as she cried from the very first day. 

“It wasn’t about Draco, Theo.” She pulls her chair closer to his. Continues lightly tracing her finger over his arm. She’s down to his forearm now. “I never loved him. For a week or maybe a month in the beginning I loved the idea of him, but falling apart was never about him.” 

“Tell me then.” He shifts in his chair, snatching her hand up in his. Boring his eyes into hers while tracing patterns of his own into her palm. “Talk to me. Please, love. Catching that glimpse of you in Hogsmeade last week broke me and I couldn’t keep away anymore. I _couldn’t_.”

Her throat bobs. Tears well in her black eyes. Voice is watery, but he holds her hand, and she lets him. “I didn’t love him, but I didn’t fight the discussions my parents would start over a marriage and future. Mother and Narcissa have always been on good terms, and Daphne went and married Harry Potter himself.” 

“Potter?” Theo scoffs, squeezing his eyes shut, stifling a harsh laugh. “I’m barely even friends with the sod, and he always manages to be the source of all my troubles. All of them.” 

“He’s… irritating like that, I suppose.” Astoria bites down on her lip, quiet in consideration. Then she sighs. “I don’t mean to blame it on them, and I shouldn’t. I’m happy Daphne's found love and happiness. She’s married and thriving in motherhood and her small small business, and here I was. A broken non-engagement that I wasn’t even all that sad about. Draco was a symbol that I’ll never be the success my sister is, and I—” 

Theo doesn’t know what comes next in her story.

He has every intention of finding out later, but he’s decided in cutting her off there. 

Kissing her can’t wait another moment. 

His lips crash into hers and finally, _finally_ , knows the taste of her. The feel of her... She stiffens for a horrible moment, and he’s thinking that maybe that was a mistake, until she’s throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him close. 

It’s not close enough. 

She’s nestled into his lap, and he doesn’t know if that’s her doing or his, but that hardly matters at the moment. Not when he’s kissing her and and a symphony of sounds filling the room. Heavy breathing, humming, sighing, and muffled pleasured sounds. Her fingers thread through his hair, nails gently scraping over his scalp. His hands find purchase at the soft curve of her hip, but it's impossible to keep them there long. To keep from skimming them over the lace of her dress and up, up, up the length of her spine. From fingering the wide collar of her dress and exploring the grace of her neck. 

They move from the table, kissing their way from the kitchen to her sofa in the sitting room. He loses his tie somewhere along the way and the tea is forgotten for what may be an eternity. 

That’s okay with Theo, though. 

Marvelous, actually. 

He’s holding the love of his life close as they alternate between snogging each other breathless and talking. Exchanging secrets of their feelings for each other over the past months. 

It isn’t a declaration of love or commitment to forever, not from Astoria, at least. And she doesn’t venture into that territory in any of her admissions. Theo doesn’t push for it, either. They both know he’s a bad liar and wouldn’t be able to hold words back if given the opportunity. 

And today isn’t for forever. 

It’s for trust. And new beginnings. 


End file.
